


Falling Asleep

by TWriter



Series: To Fall or To Fly [3]
Category: Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: A Bit of Fluff, DaddyBats, Vague Mentions of Injuries, but mostly sad and confused, vague suicidal thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-18
Updated: 2016-02-18
Packaged: 2018-05-21 12:04:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6050991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TWriter/pseuds/TWriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A chair brings back some memories, reminding some of the bad, and some of the good. A bit of DaddyBats fluff, but mostly depressed Dick and confused Bruce.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Falling Asleep

Trudging up the stairs left Dick breathing heavily, wishing he hadn’t agreed to come back here. He thought about the last few minutes downstairs, wondering why he couldn’t be bothered to argue Bruce. Fighting with him hadn’t been a problem before, so why didn’t he now?

If he was being honest with himself, it just felt like too much work. Too much work to fight, too much work to climb these fucking stairs, too much work to deal with these injuries.

Too much work to live.

Dick arrived in Bruce’s study, looking around at the familiar scene. He saw the books on the shelves, that he never saw Bruce actually touch. He saw the oak desk his adoptive father sits at, working on various business related things. He saw the armchair that Dick always considered to be the most comfortable in the house, where he had spent many hours doing homework while Bruce worked on other things.

He wondered if Bruce found the time to spend like that with Tim. If he had found the time with Jason. 

Looking down at the chair, all Dick wanted to do was sleep, but he certainly didn’t want to make the trek up to his old room, another flight of stairs away. So, unable to bear the thought of taking another step, he fell into the soft upholstery, wincing slightly at the bump to his ribs. 

He remembered when he used to sleep in this chair before, back when he was small enough to curl up in it like a cat. He would wake to the darkness, to the familiar comfort of Bruce lifting the boy to take him to his room. Although Bruce surely saw through it, Dick always pretended to still be asleep, curling into the warmth of the man who had raised him. Bruce would gently set him in his bed, underneath the poster of his parents, and run his hand through the boy’s jet black hair. And Dick was happy.

Now, years later, Dick couldn’t curl into the chair. He couldn’t fall asleep to Bruce doing paperwork. Bruce certainly wouldn’t bother to carry him upstairs, if he even still could. He wouldn’t feel Bruce’s hand running through his hair. He wouldn’t fall asleep happy. 

Dick stretched his legs out in front of him, and leaned his head against the back of the chair. Comfortably uncomfortable, Dick fell asleep.  
**  
Bruce looked to his latest ex-Robin after the oldest had shut the clock behind him. “What happened?”

“We don’t know. I went to go visit him, after you sent me back home, and he was passed out in bed. He says hes fine, but he wont say what happened.”

“What are his injuries?”

“A mild concussion, three fractured ribs, and multiple bruises and cuts. Not the worst he’s had, but certainly not the least,” responded Alfred.

“Is he acting strangely at all?”

“Well, he’s lied a couple times tonight, which definitely isn’t like him. Not anything big, but still,” said Tim.

“I suppose we might chalk it all up to the concussion, but we will want to keep an eye on him. Something is off,” said Bruce, glancing pensively to the door his oldest had disappeared through.

“I’m going to go make sure that he actually made it to his room. I wouldn’t be surprised if he passed out halfway there,” said Tim, taking a step toward the stairs.

“If he did, I have a pretty good idea of where he might be. Why don’t you stay down here for just a second, Tim. I want to check something,” responded Bruce, halfway up the stairs before he had finished talking.

Leaving the butler and his youngest son in the cave, Bruce exited through the secret passage, arriving on a semi-familiar scene.

Dick was fast asleep in the armchair Bruce kept in his study just for his sons. Although each had a certain fondness for the chair, Dick was the only one to ever sleep in it regularly. That was how he found the young man, splayed across it, head hanging back. Unsure how that could possibly be comfortable, Bruce prepared to do as he had so many times before. Dick may have grown quite a bit, but that wouldn’t stop Bruce from carrying him.

Careful not to wake the sleeping man, but, as always, unsuccessful, Bruce lifted him in a bridal carry, making his way to the stairs leading to his room. Dick settled as he always had, marginally aware of the world around him, but still mostly asleep. Bruce doubted he was aware, but these times were the times Dick would let a few things slip. This state of consciousness was the first time Dick had called Bruce “Dad.” He had been certain Dick was mistaking him for John Grayson, until Dick said, many months later, that he considered Bruce a second father.

Bruce gently set him down in his old bed, moving as he always did to pull the covers over him and brush his unmanageable hair from his face. As he turned to leave, he felt a strong grip around his wrist.

“Don’t leave,” slurred Dick. “Don’t leave. I’m sorry.”

Bruce paused, unsure how to handle such a statement. Dick was sorry? For what? He had nothing to be sorry for. 

“Dick, what are you sorry for?” he asked, but no answer was forthcoming. Unable to bear the thought of leaving after that, he sat down on the bed next to Dick. Holding his hand tightly, he looked down to the pained face of his oldest, wondering what he could do to fix this. But to fix what was wrong, he would need to figure out what actually wrong.


End file.
